Derek didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Within a month, he tried to sabotage the company.

He contacted vendors, claiming he still had authority.
He emailed board members with lies about me.
He attempted to freeze accounts he didn’t have access to.

Each attempt was documented.

Each attempt was forwarded.

Then his old debts came calling — because when people smell desperation, they collect.

And Derek did what desperate men do:

He tried to bargain.

He showed up outside the company building.

Not in a suit this time.

In wrinkled clothes and fake humility.

He blocked my path.

“Joanna,” he said, voice smaller now. “Please.”

I didn’t stop walking.

“I’m sorry,” he rushed. “I was lost. I made mistakes. But we can fix this.”

I turned slowly, finally looking directly at him.

His eyes were bloodshot.

His hands trembled slightly.

He didn’t look powerful.

He looked like a man meeting the truth for the first time.

“What do you want?” I asked.

His throat bobbed.

“Just… help me,” he said. “A loan. Something. I’ll pay it back.”

I stared at him.

Fifteen years of me paying his life.
Fifteen years of me covering his chaos.

And now he wanted one more handout.

I exhaled.

“Derek,” I said quietly, “you didn’t lose money.”

He blinked.

“You lost access to the person who kept saving you from yourself,” I finished.

He swallowed hard.

Then he tried the oldest weapon he had:

Guilt.

“You’re really going to leave me like this?” he whispered.

I nodded once.

“Yes,” I said. “Because when you left me, you smiled.”

His face crumpled.

And then, as if the universe wanted to end the story cleanly, the final blow landed.

Two men approached him from the sidewalk.

Not police.

Not reporters.

Collectors.

They didn’t touch him in any graphic way — they didn’t need to.

The fear in Derek’s face was enough.

One of them said, “We’ve been looking for you.”

Derek stumbled back.

I stepped away.

Not because I wanted to watch.

Because I didn’t need to.

Karma doesn’t always roar.

Sometimes it just taps you on the shoulder and says:

It’s time to pay.

FINAL EPILOGUE

The Real Ending: What Joanna Built

A year later, Harrison Construction wasn’t just surviving.

It was stable.

Clean books. Strong teams. Transparent leadership.

I didn’t pretend to be perfect.

I hired professionals. I learned. I listened.

And I became something Derek never expected:

A woman who didn’t need a man to validate her worth.

I also did one more thing.

I returned to the café.

Not to work.

To tip.

Big.

To thank the women still pulling double shifts, still holding families together, still being underestimated by people who call honest work “small.”

Because I remembered.

And because Theodore’s letter lived in my desk drawer like a compass.

As for Derek?

He didn’t get a dramatic redemption.

That’s not how real life works.

He got distance.

Silence.

Consequences.

And the identity he built on entitlement finally collapsed under its own weight.

One afternoon, months later, I got a message from an unknown number:

“I’m sorry.”

No name.

But I knew.

I stared at it for a long moment.

Then I deleted it.

Not out of cruelty.

Out of closure.

Because the woman I became didn’t collect apologies.

She collected peace.

And I walked forward—lighter than I’d been in fifteen years—knowing something I wish every person in Mexico (and everywhere) could learn:

Money doesn’t reveal character.
It just removes the mask faster.

THE END.